


velvet red

by thorkidumpster



Series: color-coded hearts [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Artist Loki, M/M, Mutual Pining, Secret Admirer, Short & Sweet, Teen Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Valentine's Day Fluff, football player thor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22138507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorkidumpster/pseuds/thorkidumpster
Summary: eventually, thor's bound to get valentine's day right. why is it so hard to just ask loki out?
Relationships: Loki/Thor (Marvel)
Series: color-coded hearts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593505
Comments: 32
Kudos: 189





	velvet red

**Author's Note:**

> this is a little side fic to go with [**black lipstick kisses**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22126090). you don't have to have read that, but i recommend it because why not? beta'd, as usual, by mona, who once again does not seem to care that i send her shit in the middle of the night

* * *

Thor can’t stop fidgeting.

He’s sure he’s going to wear a hole in the bottom hem of his shirt from rubbing it between his fingers. His knee seems to have developed a mind of its own and jostles so much his desk shakes. His eyes dart between three targets: his literature teacher, the classroom door, and… Loki.

Loki, who seems to be sketching rather than taking notes. Loki, with his black hair curling around his ears—it looks tempting and soft, despite the obvious copious amounts of gel Loki used to keep it slicked back. Loki glances away from his notebook when his friend, Natasha, nudges him with her elbow. Their heads lean together and Loki’s shoulders tremble from some secret joke.

Jealousy tastes like cough syrup—sticky and bitterly sweet. Thor hates it. 

Five minutes before class ends, there’s a knock on the door. The teacher, Mr. Reed, laughs. “Oh, it’s that time already? Come on in!”

A senior band member pokes his head in and waggles his eyebrows at the gaggle of freshmen gawking at him. “I come,” he intones solemnly, though his eyes dance, “bearing the burden of love.”

The band had been selling roses with treat bags attached to raise money for some trip or the other. The idea was simple—dish out $2, specify who it was for and what period they were supposed to get it, and either send them out with a name or anonymously. The band members volunteering to hand them out had all dressed up as Cupids and stopped by just before the end of every class period.

This particular Cupid has a whole cluster of roses in his fist. Thor’s stomach twists. Could all those be for…?

“Three roses for the lovely Natasha.”

Natasha raises her hand in a lazy gesture. Thor can’t say he’s surprised—with her fiery red hair and femme fatale looks, it’s no wonder other students are desperate to give her tokens of affection. She accepts the flowers with no comment, only a slight smile.

“And one… for darling Loki!”

_Darling?_ Thor bites back a scowl. Asshole. He’d better watch out or he might ‘accidentally’ get hit with a football during their joined band-and-football practice runs.

Loki’s mouth drops open. “Uh… thanks.” He takes the rose and flips open the little card attached to the bag of treats. Thor’s stomach undergoes mitosis, one half climbing up his throat and the other dropping to his bottom. Will Loki be able to tell? Will he somehow know?

“Who’s it from?” Natasha leans over.

Loki shakes his head. “A secret admirer.” A sneer curls his pretty lips and Thor wants to die.

The bell rings and the ‘Cupid’ flutters off. Kids stand up, stretch, grumble about the reading assignment that Mr. Reed had not failed to write on the board. Thor strains his ears.

“What bullshit,” Loki says, soft enough not to be overheard by their teacher. He packs his bag with short, jerking motions, shaking the whole thing violently to settle everything inside.

“Aw, come on, someone’s got a crush on youuuu.” Natasha makes a kissy face.

“No, someone’s making fun of me.” Loki unties the baggie of fun sized chocolates from the rose. “If they really liked me, they’d have the guts to tell me themselves.”

Loki and Natasha make their way to the front of the classroom. Right before leaving, Loki tosses the rose into the trashcan next to the door.

“I don’t even like roses,” he says, voice fading. “At least there’s candy.”

Shaking, Thor methodically gathers his supplies. He keeps his head ducked low to hide the tears burning in his eyes. Still, he can’t help but to glance at his rose in the trash before he goes. How stupid. Of course Loki wouldn’t like that—what had he been thinking? Loki isn’t a hopeless romantic like he is. Loki isn’t as _hopelessly in l-word_ as he is. Thor hitches his books more securely in his arms and trudges along to his next class.

That evening, during football practice, Thor fumbles what should have been an easy pass. Brock Rumlow, a teammate, shoves Thor good-naturedly. “You need to get your shit together, bud.”

He does. He really, really does.

But somehow Thor doesn’t think it’ll be that easy.

* * *

Thor doesn’t have a class with Loki their sophomore year. Against his better judgment and hating himself, he buys another rose. This time he adds a small note _—“They wouldn’t let me send just the candy.”_ —but doesn’t give his name.

He takes the back way to the locker rooms that day, following the serpentine old halls that lead right past the theater where drama club is held. Loki mentioned last year that he was a part of the club, and since he’d been in both the Fall and Spring plays, Thor figures he still is.

(Yes, he went. And yes, it was worth it to see Loki on stage for all of two seconds.)

Slowing down, Thor glances through the open doors. Loki is sitting on the stage, munching on candy and looking sour as Natasha braids a rose into his hair.

The velvety red petals against Loki’s black hair are so fetching it makes Thor’s heart twist up. Then it immediately shrivels and dies as Natasha brushes a kiss against Loki’s sharp cheek.

Next year, he vows. Next year he’ll tell Loki how he feels before it’s too late.

If it isn’t already.

* * *

Or perhaps he won’t.

Their junior year, Loki falls sick with a bout of the flu that’s been going around. Like everyone else who caught it, he’s out nearly the whole week, missing the Valentine’s Day event. Thor doesn’t know what to do—he’d been nauseous all morning at the thought of Loki getting his rose and now it was building to the boiling point. He makes up his mind during his last class. He’ll go to the band room and see if they keep the roses there, or if the unclaimed flowers just get thrown away.

After school, Thor enacts his plan. Thankfully, the band instructor is still in. She raises a questioning eyebrow. “Yes?”

Thor flashes his most charming smile. “My friend Loki is sick and wasn’t at school today, is it okay if I take his rose to give to him at home?”

The instructor nods sympathetically. “Of course. We were just going to tape it to his locker, but this is better. It would have just wilted over the weekend. Who knows, maybe it’ll perk him up!” She pokes through the scattered roses on her desk, little causalities of students being absent or rejecting them. She flips through the notes for a moment before saying, “Ahh, here we go.” She hands over Loki’s rose and goodie bag, and levels him with an understanding look that rocks Thor. “Good luck.”

Thor blushes and stutters his gratitude as he takes the rose. His note flutters, tied to the rose with a white ribbon.

_Loki—_

_I really like you. I’ve liked you for years. I’m brave enough to ask now--will you go out with me?_

_Thor_

Thor tears the note off and rips it into pieces. That Monday, he slips into their shared biology class early and leaves the bag of candies on Loki’s preferred desk. Thor pointedly does not look at Loki as he settles in for the lesson. He doesn’t want to see whatever expression might be on Loki’s face.

“Okay,” Ms Cho calls. “Time to partner up. I’ll be assigning your partners today. Now, let’s see…” She ticks through pairs of names and each set that doesn’t have his or Loki’s name puts another twist of anticipation in Thor’s stomach. “…and finally, Thor and Loki. Now, buddy up and follow me to the lab. You can leave your things.”

Loki looks startled, but not disgusted, thank God. He falls into line with Thor as they file out of the classroom. “D’you know what we’re doing today?”

Thor shrugs. Be calm, be cool. He can charge down guys with fifty more pounds of muscle than he has, for fuck’s sake. Surely he can have one normal conversation with Loki. “Cheek swabs, I think.”

Loki snorts at that, a mean little smile on his lips. “Reminds me of a joke.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Girl swabs her cheek and looks at the slide. She calls up to the teacher, horrified, ‘There’s something wiggling in my sample!’” Loki pitches his voice higher and widens his eyes; the picture of a scared girl. “The teacher comes over, looks at the slide, and says, ‘Well, that’s just sperm.’”

Thor tosses his head back with a laugh. “Great. That doesn’t make me feel any better about this.”

“Why?” Loki’s eyes glitter. “Been sucking a lot of people off?”

_No._ He doesn’t exactly want Loki to know he’s a total virgin—there’s nothing cool about that, and Loki has probably been swimming in sex. But before Thor can think of some way to change the subject, his mouth works faster than his brain filter and he blurts, “Duh. Loads.” Panic sets in. Deflect, deflect! “Get it?” He nudges Loki, relishing that small point of contact. “Loads?”

“God, you’re the worst!” Loki laughs hard and he presses a hand to his sternum as if to contain it. He glances at Thor, his grin wide and expression open. He’s beautiful. But after a moment, Loki seems to compose himself. He glances away, his cheeks splotched a faint pink under his makeup. “Anyway…”

Their conversation turns to more mundane topics, but Thor doesn’t miss how Loki won’t look him in the eye… or how he glances at Thor when he thinks Thor isn’t looking.

God, he hopes he didn’t fuck everything up.

* * *

The first day of their last year in high school, Thor makes Loki a silent promise. This year, he’ll send four flowers, one for every year, and he’ll sign them all. _More than that_ , he vows as he watches Loki cross the hall, tall and confident with his black hair in a French braid, _I’ll ask you to prom._

_I will._

_This year, I mean it._

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @thorkidumpster for more thorki fuckery


End file.
